


Traditional Stuffing

by Arya_Greenleaf



Series: Twitter Fic [14]
Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Fisting, Bottom Ben Solo, Dirty Talk, Domestic Fluff, Family Fluff, M/M, Minor Finn/Rey (Star Wars), Rey Solo, Semi-Public Sex, Situational Humiliation, Thanksgiving
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-08
Updated: 2019-01-08
Packaged: 2019-09-21 01:31:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17033816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arya_Greenleaf/pseuds/Arya_Greenleaf
Summary: “Why the fuck’ve you got all that shortening? You only need a hundred grams.”





	Traditional Stuffing

**Author's Note:**

> If you asked me what I was going to be doing on Thanksgiving days before hand, I would have never thought part of that answer would be researching fisting-safety. I've ignored a lot of that research for the sake of a sexy, tension filled story but if you're interested in any kind of fisting or other large-object insertion IRL you absolutely should not ignore it. There are a ton of resources to look at from experienced people and medical professionals. Please do adequate research, communicate clearly with your partner if you are choosing to include one, get lubricant that is appropriate for what you have planned, and don't rush.
> 
> This story doesn't know what it wants to be and I'm okay with that. Just because the tags are wild, no poor Rey is _not_ the accidental voyeur. I wouldn't do that to her, she deserves better. And because I can picture the layout of the kitchen clearly in my head and I'd like to make sure you can too: [here's a little floorplan with relevant story tags.](http://avaahren.tumblr.com/private/181849893669/tumblr_pl1bidZnEI1vyv9bv)

It is their first holiday in their brand new home, though it is by far not their first holiday as a couple -- maybe as husbands. Married for a little under a year and in the big old house even more briefly, they’ve hardly had time to settle in. The house is still partially unfurnished, their spartan belongings from the cramped apartment in the city’s center hardly enough to fill all of the extra space they suddenly have at their disposal. Agreeing on how to arrange what they have and what to get has been a trial. Even agreeing on finishings and paint colors tests the limits of their patience with each other; that they agreed to host the family for the holiday is mystifying.

They are thankful that not many of the members of the extended Organa clan stay for long: They spend just enough time for the happy, harassed couple to open the latest housewarming gift and perhaps have a drink and nibble and hors d’oeuvre. They all comment on how lovely the wedding photo on the mantle is. It’s hard not to, the thick black frame is the only feature atop the carefully preserved and cleaned brickwork.

All of the visitors are for Ben, of course. Hux learned very quickly where the Organa family is concerned, the blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb; so the visitors are a-plenty. Hux can hardly name half of them. Phasma is the sole member of the party expressly present at Hux’s invitation and really, who else would he have? No one is around for Hux and if they were he wouldn’t want them.

Who? Maratelle? Laughable.

Hux has no issue with Ben’s ridiculously extended family, blood or not, but he does desperately want them all to leave.

“Senator Vicly, this is really far to kind,” Hux says as he looks at the thing in his hands, unwrapped by Vicly before he could even set it down. The older woman flips her impressive ponytail back over her shoulder and adjusts the luxurious, vintage fur stole draped across her back. She’s brought them a decanter -- intricately cut crystal --and a bottle of something Hux would never even entertain the idea of spending good money on.

“Please, Armitage.” She says, pleased with his reaction to the gift. Vicly looks so utterly out of place there in the kitchen amongst the half-finished dishes and waiting casseroles.

Leia approaches and receives a kiss on the cheek by way of greeting. She takes the bottle from Hux’s hands and sets it down toward the back of the kitchen counter. She mutters to Rey, who obediently clears the box the decanter came out of and declares that she’ll put it on the mantle so it won’t be broken in the hubbub of the kitchen and dining room.

“You’re family now, it’s Varish,” Vicly corrects. “I can’t stay too long, of course.” She takes his hands, patting them indulgently. “But, I’ll have a little sip of something and catch up on some work nonsense with my dear Leia, hmm? Is Holdo going to show up any time soon? That bird runs on her own orbit.”

Vicly notices the ring on Hux’s finger and her eyes light up. Hux has only met her once before, greeting people at the wedding reception, but Ben has told him about her love of all things lavish and unnecessary.

“This is _beautiful_ , dear, and so unique!”

Hux thanks her and remarks that Ben’s matches, an inverse pattern. She turns his hand over, examining the bauble from all sides.

“This isn’t metal, obviously, what on Earth is it made of?”

Hux takes his hands back, uttery put-off but unsure of what to do with them. Would putting them in his pockets be rude? He settles for crossing his arms, trying to appear at-ease. The lighter outer bands, he explains, are ceramic. The middle band is koa wood. “We both needed something generally inert, for work. No one said that safe had to be boring.”

Vicly grins and congratulates him again before she abandons him for Leia’s company. Ben slides up beside him, planing a kiss just behind his ear. Hux deflates, relieved but suspecting that Ben had made himself scarce on purpose.

“Looks like you’ve got Varish’s approval.”

“Did you see what she brought?”

“Yeah,” Ben grimaces just a bit. “That’s Varish Vicly. It’s best not to argue, honestly. And make sure you use whatever she gives. I think only my mother can hold as amazing a grudge as Varish can. We can put it out at Christmas.”

“Good to know,” Hux says, nodding and still befuddled.

“C’mon, we need to start getting the sides into the oven.”

“Can’t we pretend the oven is on fire or something? We haven’t replaced it yet, it wouldn’t be too far a stretch. They’d all have to leave then.”

Ben laughs and juggles two casserole dishes out of the fridge Hux had missed when Vicly swept through the door and commanded the attention of the room. He sets them on the counter and scrutinizes the space in the small oven, face scrunched with the effort of figuring out how best to work the Tetris puzzle of crockery. “My dad would just order take out -- emergency call Boston Market or something. Besides,” he squints over Hux’s shoulder as they dance around each other getting things from the fridge and cabinets. “Rey would rat us out.”

Hux looks toward where the swinging door is flapping heavily on the hinge and Ben’s sister has just reappeared. “I would _not,_ ” she declares. “My silence is purchasable, you know that. Uncle Lando just got here.”

Rey checks her phone for the thousandth time that day. Finn’s flight is delayed; he’s supposed to call her when he is finally boarding or landing or something. It’s rapidly looking like he’s going to miss dinner entirely.

“Good,” Ben says. He tries to figure out something to distract her from her distress over Finn with, turning around in a circle in the middle of the kitchen. “How about you start setting the table? The glasses Lando gave us are in the cabinet. You can put those out.”

Rey gives him a questioning look. They're a fancy crystalwear set that looks at home with the decanter Vicly just bought. They’re begging to be broken and besides, they’re too high. Ben takes them down from where they live on the top shelf and puts them on the counter within her reach. He prods her into action and turns his attention back to Hux.

“Soon as this stuff is in we can start putting together mom’s pie?”

Hux concedes. It’s useless to try to evade the dinner at this point; he may as well try to enjoy himself. With the counter finally clear of dishes and everyone else kicked out of the kitchen, there is space to work. As they do, their extra visitors slowly depart, off to their own dinners and charity banquets. It suddenly feels as though the house can breathe again without the ridiculous cast of characters crammed into it.

Hux sets himself to working on the pie filling while Ben gets started on the crust. They’ve decided well in advance how best to divide the responsibilities of baking, neither one of them terribly confident in their singular abilities. Hux gathers an armful of things from the fridge and the cabinet and stakes out a place for himself on the counter nearest the stove. The day before, he’d painstakingly cut and cleaned and roasted a whole damned pumpkin for the puree. They’d driven nearly an hour out of the way to find a market with sugar pumpkins, the precise variety Leia’s recipe called for. Hux is perhaps, secretly, determined to impress Ben’s family _somehow_. He also, perhaps, secretly, _was_ looking for ways to keep himself from going online and booking an early flight to the furthest location he could find.

The night, after spending so many endless hours preparing for this meal, had been a welcome diversion. Ben had smelled like the kitchen; good enough to eat when Hux marked his way down from Ben’s soft breast to his belly. What they’d gotten into after, well, Hux was still trying to figure out if it had been real.

He starts to heat the smooth puree, stirring in cream and spices and poking it until it begins to simmer again. Just as he’s taking it off the stove to cool, Ben swears and a puff of flour like rolling smoke drifts across the kitchen. The open bag is on the floor an Ben is standing with his head hanging between his shoulders. He holds the pastry cutter aloft to halt Hux, back turned. “I’ll get it,” he says.

Hux is satisfied somewhere in the dark corners of his heart that Ben is audibly annoyed -- finally fucking ruffled by something after he’d spent the night ruffling Hux one way and watching his family ruffle him another today.

The pumpkin has to cool before Hux can put the eggs in and the crust will have to bake for a bit before they can even put the damned thing together. Hux humors Ben, ignoring the spill and stepping around him to swipe his finger over the top of the icy cold stick of butter Ben has been cutting into a pile of flour. He knows it’s strange but he doesn’t care. He lived a life entirely devoid of fat and flavor before he escaped from under Brendol’s thumb -- he’ll have a taste of it wherever he can. Ben swats at him, complaining that he’ll mess up the dough with his hot hands.

“Mm. And you know how hot they are, don’t you?”

Ben closes his eyes, shaking his head and pretending that his cheeks didn’t briefly flare with a blush. “Can you get me the water from the fridge?”

Hux begins to do just that, glancing over the counter to see if Ben might need anything else while he’s there, when he notices what’s actually out. “Why the fuck’ve you got all that shortening? You only need a hundred grams.”

Ben sticks out his lip and pouts, continuing to hack away at the chunky fat-and-flour mess in his chilled bowl. He pushes the forty-eight ounce tub of the stuff out of sight. “It was all they had at the store.”

“That’s ridiculous. You could have just doubled the butter instead.”

“No, the shortening makes a difference. Mom says --”

They both freeze at the sound of Leia’s voice. “Not fighting on my account, are you?” They tell her no, both blushing and embarrassed. Wordlessly, she crosses the kitchen to fetch the broom and dustpan from the tiny closet in the corner. “Varish just left.” She sweeps up the pile of flour and picks up the bag. Hux runs some paper towel under the faucet and gets the rest. “It looks like Finn won’t be here until tonight. I don’t think it’s fair we hold dinner that long. We’ll make up a plate for him and keep the oven on so that -- “

Hux holds his tongue while Leia goes on. He always feels cowed in her presence. There is something about her that makes him question everything about himself.

“Mom,” Ben hisses, grabbing the rolling pin out of the fridge. He dumps the dough on the counter. “We’ll take care of it.”

Leia presses her lips together but drops the subject. “Everyone else is here. I herded them downstairs so they stay out of your way. Rey’s already polished off that mountain of mozzarella sticks. I think Poe helped, but he won’t admit it.” She dips a pinky around the edge of the cooled pot on the stove, tasting what’s left around the edges of the pumpkin. She smiles in approval. “Your friend is so quiet, Armitage. I don’t want her to feel excluded.”

Hux shakes his head. “That’s just Phasma. She’s a woman of few words, don’t worry about it.” He pushes the flour-wet paper towels into the garbage. “You can send her up here if -- “ Ben gives him a begging look. Not today, not now. “Dinner should be ready in an hour,” he finishes instead.

Leia pats Ben’s back and he works the rolling pin, focus zeroed in on the little hunks of butter and shortening as he crushes them. Hux speaks again when he’s sure she’s out of earshot.

“We should have just had a quiet night together. The house isn’t anywhere near ready for this -- we’ve got your family in the basement on our shitty couch and a futon. I just… I can’t deal with this.”

“Because it’s actually too much or because it’s _my_ family?”

“Ben!”

He deflates and rubs his brow, flouring himself. “I didn’t mean it.”

Hux brushes the flour away. “Yes you did. It’s fine.”

“Yeah. I did.” He sighs. “I’m still sorry though. I just want this to go well?”

“You want to show them that you haven’t made a mistake.”

Ben makes a face, a dark thing passing across his eyes that’s gone in a flash. “Can you take the bread out?” he says just as the contraption in the corner beeps. It’s always like he has a sixth sense.

Hux frowns at the bread maker, a ridiculous wedding gift from Rey, some kind of joke between the siblings. The bread that comes out of it fills the kitchen with that fresh-baked scent. “We should have just stayed in bed like we planned.” Hux hisses softly, fingers stinging with the heat from the loaf before he drops it on the counter.

Ben catches him around the waist and purrs against his ear. “If we were still in bed, I couldn’t have fucked you on the table this morning.”

Hux blushes bright red, heart hammering with the close memory of it. There are a landslide of Ikea boxes hidden in the backyard. They’d gotten up with the sun to put the damned table together. Then they’d christened it. With relish. They’d cleaned the tabletop thoroughly afterward, a little embarrassed by their behavior in the short afterglow. The table was the perfect size for Ben’s heirloom tablecloth, presented lovingly by Leia on arrival. She’d said something about the lace coming from her mother’s bridal veil. Hux had no idea if she meant her mother or the mother she shared with Luke. He wasn’t sure if it mattered. Just like the glasses from Lando and the new decanter from Vicly, the thing was nothing but a disaster waiting on the horizon.

“We should start putting all of this out.” Hux pulls away and Ben laughs softly, big fingers smoothing the dough into the pie dish and pressing wide flutes into the edge. Hux moves to the doorway and pauses. “Besides, Ben, I’m not sure _I’m_ the one who should be bashful about how and where they were last fucked.”

Ben turns a brilliant shade of cherry. Satisfied, Hux turns back toward the door and the speaker beside it. The house is old and hasn’t had too much updating beyond the finished basement, but the last occupants did rewire the ancient intercom system that ran through the house. Hux presses the button and waits for the click that tells him the house is listening. He speaks into the box, hoping that everyone gathered on their mismatched furniture downstairs can hear. “Phas, could you come help me?”

It isn’t too long before her heavy step echoes on the stairs. “I thought it was just supposed to be his sister,” Phasma says in a hushed tone as they first move cold dishes onto the table. “Really, Hux, they’re insufferable. And I didn’t realize you’d installed a revolving door, either, doesn’t that drive the heating bill up?”

“Phasma, please,” he snaps, putting a bottle of salad dressing down with just a little more force than necessary. Phasma is laden with the huge bowl of mixed greens, Romaine lettuce banned from the household by the CDC in favor of unjustly priced organic fare from the boutique market, the only place open for miles that morning. “If it’s that much of an ordeal for you, you’re welcome to leave; but this is my _husband’s_ family for better or worse and I need this _stupid_ meal to go well.”

They quiet down and take things out of the oven, making room for the crust that Ben is ready to blind bake, little ceramic beads jingling around in the dish as he swings it from the counter to the rack. He tells Hux they should let the turkey and ham rest for a few minutes before they slice it. His shoulders are hitched high with stress.

“Phasma,” he says, voice falsely jovial, "Wanna ditch everybody and get White Castle instead? I hear they’re open until midnight today.”

Phasma looks him square in the eyes and says _yes_. He laughs, tight and uncomfortable, and pours himself a glass from the bottle of wine they’d been cooking with.

“I’ll leave you two alone,” Phasma says when they’ve finished transferring dishes. She retreats back to the basement, laughter filtering up the stairs as she goes. Ben hovers while Hux beats brown sugar and eggs together like he’s got a grudge against them. He adds in the cooled pumpkin when Hux asks him to and then there’s not much to do.

By the time they’re done, the crust is ready. They pour and set a timer on Ben’s phone for forty-five minutes. “Nothing left but to wait,” he mumbles. Hux points out that they still have carving and Ben groans. “Who’s idea was this in the first place?”

Hux folds his arms against Ben’s advances, letting himself be hugged around the waist and nothing more. “If I’m not mistaken, Mr. Organa, it was yours. I have a _distinct_ memory of you talking on the phone with your mother in this very kitchen saying, ‘Well, let’s have a big party, have the whole family over!’”

“Mr. Hux, I think you might be right.”

Hux loosens up, rolling his eyes and resting his forehead against Ben’s shoulder. “It makes you crazy to have them all in one place, Ben, why the _fuck_ did you do this to us?”

“Because… because it’s what you _do_. I don’t know, it seemed like a good idea.”

“No,” Hux scolds knowingly. “It seemed like a good way to prove a point to your mother.”

“What point?”

“I don’t know, Ben, you tell me.” He snakes his arms around Ben’s waist, puts his hands down into the seat pockets of his jeans. “The turkey can rest a few more minutes.”

“Mhm.” Hux squeezes hard enough to make Ben jump and laugh. “Whole family’s waiting, though.” A burst of laughter echoes from downstairs. Ben muses that they probably don’t mind the waiting. Except Phasma, maybe. Hux laughs and Ben holds him as far at arms-length as he can. “I feel like dessert, do you?”

“It’s not ready yet; unless you have some kind of magic power to speed it up.”

Ben’s smile is downright dirty. “I don’t mean pumpkin pie. Well,” he laughs and pulls Hux close again, wiggling against him and kissing him soundly. “Maybe I _do_ mean pumpkin pie.”

Hux snorts and tells him his terrible. Not terrible enough to ignore, though. “You know, I did enjoy last night,” he murmurs. “I don’t know why you never told me.”

Ben is in a laughing mood. Real amusement or the stress of the day manifesting itself being the source was up for debate. He leans into Hux; lets him do what he will with his face buried behind Ben’s ear, mouth wet against the thin skin of his neck. “I thought you’d be grossed out or something. Leave that ring on the table and hit the road,” he says with a nervous titter.

Hux pulls him back toward the counter and presses their hips together. “Mm, no -- a little surprised, maybe, but not grossed out. Kind of impressed, to be honest.”

He slips a hand between them, brazenly groping Ben though his jeans. “Explains a lot.”

Ben asks what he means, voice low.

“Why you’re so… hm, what’s the word?” Hux kisses him with far too much tongue. Ben shivers. “Stretchy?” Hux laughs, a little mean. “Ready. So _ready_ all the time.”

Ben makes an embarrassing sound and melts into him. Hux gropes a little harder.

“I don’t think we should spoil our dinner, Ben. The turkey isn’t going to carve itself; ham either.”

Ben squawks in indignation and Hux slips away.

“I think,” Hux continues as he fetches appropriate tools from the knife block. “That we might want to start buying the big bottles of lube, though.”

Ben picks his half empty glass of wine up and finishes it off in a long gulp. “Uh huh,” is all he manages to offer.

Separately, they’re of one mind, lingering on the previous day: Ben’s quiet request that Hux not laugh or walk away. Ben explaining what he wanted, how it might be accomplished. They way Ben watched Hux adjusting the glove on his fingers, hesitant as he squeezed lubricant out of the bottle from the bedside table -- the way his brow had risen when Ben insisted that more was better even with a nice slick sheen all over. Their mutual surprise when after their slow, stumbling start, Hux’s thumb slipped inside of Ben. _Keep going, slowly._ Ben had whispered, into the pillows instead of to Hux.

By the time they’re finished carving, hardly a spare word between them necessary with flushed cheeks and chewed lips, the timer has gone off and the pie can come out to cool. It's a miracle they've managed to complete the task with all digits still intact in their distraction.

They indulge in one last quiet moment; a quick kiss and a bracing squeeze for confidence. Hux buzzes the intercom to let everyone know that dinner is served. The loud party tromps up the stairs while Ben and Hux bring the last of the food to the table.

The dining table isn’t quite long enough to accommodate their whole party, even reduced by one. They are forced to seat three at their little breakfast table, shoved in place at one end. Hux and Ben and Phasma cluster together there with Rey and Poe first at the new table and Ben’s parents and uncles beyond.

“I’m really sorry about the folding chairs,” Ben apologizes during a lull in the conversation. They’d bought the table and put it out of their mind until the last minute, completely forgetting that chairs might be a good thing to have also picked up. They’d managed to get a rental company to drop them off late the evening previous, big truck with a pink hippo on it drawing too much attention in the cozy little cul de sac.

Han shakes his head and swallows a big bite of green bean casserole. “No sweat, kid. We know things are a little hectic here. How are you settling in, anyway?”

They talk about the work that needs to be done on the house, little renovations here and there. They decline Han’s offer to get _a guy he knows_ to do the contracting. Lando laughs, advising them that it was a good choice.

Near the time that the idea clearing the table and of heading back downstairs to sit more comfortably for drinks and dessert is being discussed, the doorbell rings. Rey nearly pulls the tablecloth and the entirety of dinner with her when she leaps out of her seat to answer.

The energy of the gathering is renewed when Finn comes through the door. He apologizes profusely for his lateness, even after assurances that it isn’t any fault of his own. Thoughts of clearing the table are set aside and the seating shifts to allow Finn to sit beside Rey. They hold hands beneath the table and Ben rolls his eyes, even though his own hand is on Hux’s knee.

“Thank you for this,” Ben murmurs and leans in to kiss Hux’s cheek. “I know it’s hard. The whole family _thing_. We’ve had our problems but…” He drops the thread of his thought, shrugging and indicating the group around them.

Hux cuts Ben off before he can express an kind of misplaced sympathy for Hux’s lack of immediate family. “You and Phas are all I need. Anything else is extra.”

The easy conversation continues, everyone picking at what’s on the table while Finn tucks in, justifiably ravenous after such a long delay. Finished, Poe and Phasma help to shift everything back from the table to the kitchen. They pack the fridge like an edible Tetris board again with plastic wrapped platters and covered casserole dishes. Ben starts a pot of coffee brewing and turns on the electric tea kettle while the others make their way downstairs where the rest of the party has reconvened, arms loaded with trays and boxes of sweets.

Rey appears in the doorway with a stack of plates that she sets carefully beside the sink. “So how are things, really?” She asks.

Ben shrugs and the coffee pot gurgles. “I think I’ll keep him. The sixty day return window ran out a while ago, anyway. Couldn’t even begin to think of what I did with the receipt to try for store credit.” Rey laughs and they go back for the rest of the plates. “How are things with Finn? He’s been away a while.”

Rey nods solemnly and admits his absence has been difficult. She missed him terribly; they didn’t get to speak often. But, he’ll be back on campus for the Spring semester, he isn’t going back abroad.

“I think he’s going to ask me. You know, _ask me_ .” She turns bright pink and the glasses in her hands clink disconcertingly. Ben presses the point after she’s put them down safely. “I don’t know. I can’t imagine ever being with anyone else. I love him, like, _a lot._ A lot -- a lot. But, I… I want to finish school, first. Get a job. Maybe move out.”

“Well, is he going to ask you tonight?”

Rey only shrugs.

“I don’t think he will, too much going on.”

Rey points out that the family is all there, only Amilyn is missing and she’ll be around in the morning at the Organa house.

“Nah, he knows you. He wouldn’t put you on the spot like that. Talk to him. Tell him what you told me.”

The coffee pot beeps in completion and the kettle shortly thereafter. Ben pulls rey in for a one-armed hug and plants a sloppy kiss on her temple.

“Grab that box,” he says, pointing to one tucked into the corner. “We didn’t unpack the mugs yet.” He takes charge of the hot kettle and carafe and leads the way down the stairs.

Ben and Hux are more than relieved to have the day sinding slowly to an end. They’ll soon have their home to themselves again and have a chance to take a breath -- no one is staying the night, they made sure of that. Lando and Luke will be staying with Ben’s parents. Rey will most certainly choose to go off to Finn’s apartment. Poe and Phasma are safely tucked away at the local hotel, just off the nearest turnpike exit.

As Hux understands it, the family has plans for the weekend that somehow involve he and Ben -- but tonight is theirs. His attention floats among the individual conversations happening around him. No one has yet sliced a piece of their pie; but the pile of pastries has dwindled. With just a touch of spite, he pulls the glass dish toward himself, right to the edge of the coffee table, and hacks at it a little noisily with the spade-shaped server obnoxiously engraved with their names and wedding date. He drops the slice onto his plate and pops a big forkful into his mouth.

Hux starts with the crust, always. He prefers that his last bite is smooth and sweet and flavorful; and no matter how well made any kind of crust or pastry is, it never satisfies that need. The bit of filling clinging to the crust is perfect. The flavor is balanced; the texture is silky smooth; it’s just the right temperature to enjoy.

He has to take a big gulp of the strong coffee Ben brewed to cover the face he makes when the golden-brown, fluted edge touches his tongue. It’s buttery, sure, but it’s also weirdly dense -- like a poorly made biscuit. He turns his plate and take another bite from the other end, hoping maybe the edge is just overdone. But still -- perfect pumpkin playing host to a weird, greasy hunk of dough.

He cannot let Ben know.

Somehow, Hux must get this stupid pie off the table.

Leia catches his eye and raises a brow over her tea cup. “Are you alright?” She asks. “You’re so pale all of a sudden, Armitage.”

Hux takes another bite and shakes his head. “Quite alright. I’m just a bit warm, I think.”

Ben shifts away from him with an apologetic sound, moves his arm from the couch behind Hux’s shoulders. Hux wants to tell him not to. He stays quiet.

Leia motions for Ben to cut her a piece of pie. “So, how to do you like my mother’s baking?”

Hux coughs and says that he thought the recipe they followed was her own.

“Stars, no, I never had any talent for that sort of thing. It was Breha’s handiwork.” She directs the last bit at Luke in anticipation of a question he doesn’t get a chance to ask. “Piotr has always been rather amazing at anything he’s set his mind to, though.” She smile and thanks Ben.

Hux wants to crawl under the table and disappear. An heirloom recipe to match the goddamned heirloom tablecloth and they’ve fucked it up. He doesn’t need to have known a family of his own to see how awful it is.

“Once we realized it was something Ben actually _liked_ , Piotr started making it for us all year long, not just the holidays. Such a picky child!” She smiles and teases Ben gently.

“Well, I hope it’s up to Pio’s standards,” Ben laughs and serves himself a slice. “I did the crust and Hux did the pumpkin.”

At least Hux can’t be blamed, he thinks in a selfishly brief moment.

Everything seems to slow down as mother and son both move to take a bite. Poe is handing pieces down the row on the couch. Hux holds his breath. Everything had been going so well. Hux braces himself as Leia places the fork against her lips. She smiles and for the briefest blink of a moment she falters. She stays silent. Down the line reactions are similar, save for Phasma who is outright frowning. It's really not that terrible, but it's unpleasantly surprising.

Ben takes a big bite and chews, the grin dropping entirely off his face. "I followed all the instructions," he says in a quiet, wounded tone. "What happened?"

Leia frowns and chews. She asks whether he just used butter, he says he did half and half. She asks how long he baked it, if he blind baked first. She asks if he kept everything cold so the shortening and butter didn't melt.

"Of course! The mixing bowl, the rolling pin, everything was chilled." She finishes the piece and purses her lips, asks if he refrigerated the dough before baking. Ben groans, "No."

Hux takes a big bite and smiles, "It's great Ben, don't worry about it."

Rey digs in with enthusiasm, "If you hadn't said it, I wouldn't have known anything was wrong."

"Rey, you've eaten fried grasshoppers, how am I supposed to trust your opinion on food?"

"You ate them too!"

"You _enjoyed_ them!"

"Does anyone need another drink? Coffee? More hot water for the tea?" Hux stands abruptly, gripping his empty plate. Rey and Ben continue to bicker. Hux picks the empty carafe up off the table without waiting for an answer and flees up the stairs.

Heavy footsteps follow him and as he's scooping fresh grounds into the coffee maker a large hand wallops him between the shoulders in rough affection.

"Relax kid," Han says. He has the ceramic creamer in his other hand and he goes to the fridge to refill it.

Hux cannot relax. When he returns to the party things have quieted down. Everyone is laughing and the pie has been totally finished save for a few fluted crusts abandoned on plates. Phasma has blessedly found some kind of companionship with Poe. They're discussing the differences between Air Force and Army deployment. Finn chimes in when there is space to, when the conversation he is having with Rey and Luke allows time for it. He mentions something about his National Guard training that invigorates the discussion and he's drawn into it fully.

Even with the way Ben shifts close to him on the couch, takes his hand, casually kisses him and thanks him for the fresh coffee -- Hux feels out of place, like he’s an invited guest instead of a member of the clan, the host of the damn thing. He glances at the high-polished face of the watch on Ben's wrist. Surely, they all must be tiring.

Another hour and Lando is the first to say as much. He's teased for it and the older of the bunch reminisce on his younger, harder-partying ways and the decadence he indulged in. He gives as good as he gets and it's interesting to listen to. It may be the most candid that Hux has ever seen them all. His mind wanders while they continue to talk around him. There seems to be no end in sight.

"Ben," he leans in and speaks just loud enough for him to hear. "About last night--"

"Hux," Ben hisses, cheeks turning pink.

"Could we do it again?"

Ben clears his throat softly and bites his lip. His lashes look decadent fanned out across the apples of his cheeks when he closes his eyes for a moment. "Yeah."

"Soon?"

"How soon?"

"Tonight."

"I -- um -- maybe. Can we... can we talk about this later?"

Hux leans in for a kiss, offering no answer. Poe wolf-whistles from across the room and the group has a well-meaning laugh at their expense. Ben blushes furiously.

 _Finally_ , Ben's parents and uncles rise to leave. They'll all head back to the Organa homestead in Han's rebuilt VW Bus like the bunch of retired radicals they are. Hux and Ben drift to the kitchen to pull out the Tupperwear and send everyone home with a share of the bounty. They can hardly keep the fridge closed if they don't.

They load Hans arms with containers by way of saying goodbye and give assurances that they'll be over at the Organa house by eleven tomorrow. Leia has evidently gotten several messages from Vicly and Holdo over the course of the evening wanting to see everyone -- Vicly especially interested in getting to know that _charming_  young man, Armitage.

Ben laments that some other of his parents' friends or colleages won't be able to come and they continue to chit-chat near the door. Hux not interested in any of this, he just wants his house and his husband to himself. He doesn’t care for the family trivia.

Ben invites the younger crowd to stay as long as they'd like. He offers them access to the little utility room walled off in the basement -- laundry, fridge, and freezer all arranged in a near little square -- and invites them to help themselves to whatever of the drinks are left since they'll all be calling cabs.

Hux wants to scream.

He turns to start the dishes while they make their way back down the stairs _again_. He'll be happy to not hear that noise for a good long while. Ben catches him around the waist and tugs him away from the filling sink and the trash can that he's scraping food debris into. Ben tells him to come down with them, that he'll enjoy himself more now that Ben's parents and uncles are gone. Hux shakes his head and tries to pull away, these big family things are just too much for him. He's not accustomed to it at all, even if Phasma took to it like a fish to water once she found some common ground.

"I just want some quiet. Go spend time with your sister, you hardly ever get to."

Ben shrugs and sighs and says she'll be home all weekend but how many times will he get to slave in the kitchen cleaning after his first holiday in his first house with his first husband?

" _First_ husband?" Hux says, poised over the dishwasher with a handful of utensils. "I hope you like arsenic in your scrambled eggs, Mr. Organa."

Ben laughs and says it adds a special little zing, he loves it. "Next year we'll make sure mom and dad host," he concedes. "This was a lot."

He helps load the casserole dishes and lids into the machine then continues with the preliminary scraping. They'll have to hand wash the actual dishes if they have any hope of being done before sunrise. They set a stack into the sink to soak for a few minutes and survey the rest of the damage.

Without knowing when their remaining guests will depart, Hux doesn't want to leave their containers of food out. He loads them back into the fridge, more than a little annoyed. To make them fit he needs to move the ridiculous tub of shortening Ben bought to make their single, failed pie.

"This doesn't need to be refrigerated, you know," Hux comments when he sets it on the counter. There's no place he can think of to put it immediately except the fridge or the freezer in the basement and he has no intention of making the extra trip right that moment.

Ben frowns and crosses his arms. "Stupid pie," he mutters bitterly, turning pink around the ears.

Hux assures him the pie was fine. Anyone who complained didn't deserve to have a seat at their table as far as he was concerned. He thought they'd done great for having never baked before and wasn't the whole thing finished off? Not a crumb in sight.

"Well, I don't wanna see another stupid pie again until next year." He steps into the space where their breakfast table usually sits. The previous owners had a table that was just about the same size as theirs. There were soft scuffs on the flooring where the legs rested for decades. Ben smooths the toe of his smart ankle boot over the mark he's closest to.

Hux steps around the counter and into the space, grabbing him by the shoulders to make Ben look at him. "Hey, knock it the fuck off."

Ben rolls his eyes and pouts for a moment, "Maybe I should tell the others to hit the road."

Hux physically waves the notion away. They're enjoying themselves. Phasma seems happy for once. Better to leave it, they'll clear out on their own, Hux supposes. He sighs, cupping Ben's face affectionately and playing with his ears. "If you won't look at another pie until next year, what the hell are we gonna do with all that damn shortening?"

Ben seems to seriously consider the dilemma for a moment. "Well," he says with an utterly straight face, "We did use all of the lube last night."

There are several seconds of tense silence and Hux bursts into laughter. His stomach hurts when he's done and he needs to rest against Ben's broad shoulders to catch his breath.

"What? It's a thing."

"Don't be ridiculous. It's food, why would you put food up your ass?"

"Hux, trust me," he laughs. "It's a thing."

"That can't be true."

"Haven't you ever been on the internet?" His face very quickly turns the brightest shade of red that Hux has ever seen on him -- brighter even than the shade that he'd risen to last night while Hux was slowly working his hand inside of him. "When I still lived at home, it -- it was the easiest thing to get. I offered to do the grocery shopping a lot."

"Ben, haven't _you_ ever been on the internet?" Hux teases, "You can buy things there. Like lube, from actual respectable retailers, rather than greasing yourself like a loaf pan."

Ben laughs long and hard. "Try explaining very purposefully unmarked boxes being delivered to the family home of an elected government official."

"Ah, that makes sense, I suppose."

"I bought a dildo once. I pretended that it must have been a joke -- a friend with a terrible sense of humor, it was a good thing I've always had a lot of those. Never tried it again."

"Did you keep it?"

"Of course, that thing was expensive. I just made sure I hid it."

Hux presses himself close, nuzzling against Ben, nose to nose. "So, the internet."

"Mm?"

"Is it terrible of me to think of you sitting in the dark with your laptop... fumbling around with your contraband sex toy -- how did you figure you could do... more?"

Ben is breathing slow and heavy, hands gripping Hux's belt like a lifeline. "I saw... I saw someone's blog. They used -- " he falters for a moment, earlobe sucked fully between Hux's lips. "They used really... really big ones. Dildos, I mean." He's breathless, a little unsteady on his feet. "Really, um, wide... sometimes. And... and long. Sometimes something with a fat end and he kind of.... he kind of _popped_ onto it and it sort of _stayed_. Then, um, then once..."

He trails off, Hux distracting him with the diligent suction of his mouth against Ben's neck. Hux knows wants to tell him to knock it off, the others will see the hickey he's going to leave and Ben doesn't have a shirt with a high enough collar to hide it. He doesn't.

"Then, once?" Hux prompts, truthfully curious.

"He talked about finding a partner for... for... you know. A lot. But never really found one, just talked about doing it," he breaks into a whine with Hux's hand between them. "Doing it -- doing it to himself -- but never really posted anything. And then once, he found someone and they stood him up."

"Devastating. Rude."

"Uh _huh_ ," Ben gulps. "But he said he didn't want to waste the time... the time he spent cleaning and, and um, and warming up. So he -- so he posted a video of -- "

"Fisting himself?" Hux asks innocently.

"Yeah," Ben sounds like he might cry.

Hux leans back to catch his eye, "Are you alright?"

Ben nods, beet-red and forehead glistening, "Yeah, just... I can't believe I told you. I can't believe we -- that you..."

"I want to do it again."

Ben is a bobblehead. "I know, we can. We will."

"Now."

Ben is bewildered. Hux repeats himself. "Hux, we've got -- we've got people downstairs."

"Yes, downstairs. Occupied with each other. No one's even bothered to come up and ask if they can help clean up." His eyes sweep across to the tub of shortening. "Show me how it works."

" _Now_."

"Yes, _now_." Hux pauses, considering. It's a ridiculous proposal. Ben spent hours preparing himself. It had turned into an all-evening affair. Cleaning. Eating an indulgent bowl of buttery pasta -- for energy, he claimed. Slow, snail-paced instruction and reassurances and teasing. Foreplay that seemed to never end. "Can we not? Is there a problem?"

Ben seems to be doing math in his head, or at least he purses his mouth in the same way he does when he's dividing a dinner check. "We can. I should be okay. Just... not deep. Not like last night."

"So, now."

Ben gives the kitchen door a hard look of scrutiny. He puts a hand up when Hux begins to speak, hushing him. Something in his expression changes, a peg sliding into place and completing some kind of circuit. His blush is fading just a bit. He chews his lip and dives in for a kiss. “Now,” he murmurs in a broken, indulgent tone.

Hux jerks back. "Wait --  _wait_. Are you serious?"

Ben's eyes are just a little glassy, pupils fat. It reminds Hux of how he looked last night. "Yes, don't you want to?"

"But the others, they -- "

"Are occupied." He swallows hard. "Hux, please."

Hux closes his eyes and takes a breath. This is reckless. They should at least go up to the bedroom. "Alright," he breathes. "Tell me what to do."

Ben takes slow, shuffling steps backward, tugging Hux with him, leading him by the mouth. His backside bumps against the counter and he grins into the kiss they're engaged in. Ben turns, rubbing against Hux as he does, leaning back into him. Hux wraps his arms around Ben, slipping his hands up under Ben's shirt. Ben shivers a little, Hux's fingers cool against his belly. He makes soft sounds when Hux rubs his face into his hair, finds his neck beneath it to kiss. Ben puts his hands down on the counter, pressing back into the shell of Hux's body.

Hux works blindly at Ben's belt, hesitation forgotten. The buckle clatters against the tiny tiles that make up the surface of the counter. The button comes undone easily, zipper slides down smoothly. Ben is trembling and Hux asks if he wants to stop. Ben jerks his head in a vague denial and a shaky hand reaches for his waistband, clumsily pushing it down. Hux takes his hand and places it back on the counter, holding it there.

Ben wasn't so quiet last time. Once Hux had convinced him that he wouldn't turn away or laugh or be put off, he'd been confident -- commanding, even. He seems meek now. "Ben," Hux coos softly. "Do you want to keep going? We can wait."

"Keep going," Ben answers, soft but clear.

"Tell me what to do."

Ben snorts, trying to contain a laugh. "You have to soften the shortening. It's not going to do much half-frozen."

Hux stifles his own laugh with his face pressed between Ben's shoulders. "Here," he says, sliding the tub toward Ben on the counter. "You warm it up." He arranges Ben's hands around it.

"Well what are you going to to? Just stand there?"

"Warm _you_ up."

Ben laughs, still soft and low. He's puzzled for the briefest of moments, watching Hux sink to his knees, corner of his eye just visible over his shoulder. Hux's knees crack as he goes and he hopes it's not too loud. He runs his hands up over the backs of Ben's calves, his thighs, his ass. He grips the belt, hooks his fingers inside and catches the elastic of Ben's briefs. He pulls them down, shimmying them gently over bent hips, and hoists himself up. Ben gasps at first contact, Hux's warm mouth against the meat of his backside -- a firm bite to his thigh, his cheek. Hux spreads him and wastes no time, leaning into the warmth of Ben's body and sucking a wet kiss right against his hole. Ben swears in the hazy distance above him. Hux sucks -- and bites -- and licks -- and gropes -- until finally Ben's legs relax, finally the line of his shoulders and back is less hitched with tension, simply holding him upright. They pause, Hux hovering half-upright, and listen to the sounds of light steps on the stairs. Down the hall the bathroom door opens and shuts, the fan kicking on with the light.

It's only a moment until the steps approach again and a voice calls out, paused by the stairs. "Do you guys want help with the dishes?"

"No!" Ben shouts. His ears are beet-red; Hux can see them peeking through his hair.

"Why don't you leave them for later?" It's Poe, his earnest tone getting closer.

"We're almost done! We'll be down in a bit!" Hux's vision whites-out for a moment as he rises too quickly and his knees pop back.

"Alright, then." Poe's steps recede down the stairs and they breathe for a moment.

"Maybe we should wait," Hux whispers. "Gave you a little taste." He grins at his own joke, watching Ben's torso expand and contract with each breath beneath his shirt. "It'll be better later."

"No," Ben whispers back. His tone is high, needy. "You wanted it now -- do it now." Hux'll take the blame. Any shred of good judgement he has left flies away with Ben's soft, " _Please._ "

Hux strokes him in gentle motions, palms skidding in the tackiness of his own saliva. He takes the tub of shortening from Ben's hands, warmed a bit now from handling. Ben's palms flatten against the counter again, fingers curling over the edge. He closes his eyes, turning his face away from Hux when he peels off the lid. Hux dips his fingers into the edge of the tub, feeling the cool, solid surface of the shortening. He has to dig his fingers in, to crush the cold grease in his hand. He hesitates, sticky fingers hovering just a breath from Ben's skin.

Ben is tense again; his shoulders high and tight, breath stalled. Hux holds the soft muscle of his backside in his right hand, gripping and groping to expose him. With his left, he smooths the shortening into Ben's cleft; rubs his thumb in persistent loops against his hole. "Do you want it?" He asks, voice sticking in his chest.

"Don't rush," Ben croaks against the counter. "But you don't -- " He gasps sharply, Hux's index finger slipping easily inside. "You don't have to go as slow as before. I'm okay."

Ben begins to tremble and doesn't stop. Hux moves the index in and out slowly, watching him breathe. The middle finger slips in with the barest hint of resistance. He spends more time, twisting and rolling and rubbing.

"You need more," Ben whispers; so he takes it and pushes it inside, letting it melt with the heat of Ben's body.

"Open your mouth," Hux says, offering his slick hand. "I don't want to lose this," he says with a laugh, extending his ring finger. Ben leans forward, closing his lips around the digit and his teeth behind the ring. Hux pulls his hand away slowly and swipes his fingertips into the shortening again. It's softer now.

Ben's shaky hands lift and take Hux's ring from between his lips. He slips it on his own finger, the two rings clinking softly together. He grips the edge of the counter again. "Keep going," he says, watching Hux.

Hux works two fingers into his hole and spreads them, rubbing soothing circles with his unoccupied hand against Ben's hip. He slides a third finger inside and Ben hisses at the stretch. They pause for a breath until Ben says:  _keep going_.

Ben is warm -- more than warm. His skin is glowing with blush. Inside he's like a furnace and it's so different from shoving against Ben with his cock. Somehow it is more intimate than fucking, than the slow, close sex that is more than that; but also obscene -- this odd thing that Ben likes -- that he practiced in secret for so long. And just  _how_ had he kept that up? 

Hux's little finger slips in much easier than he thought it would. He watches Ben pant, quick and then slower and deeper. Carefully, he withdraws and scrapes his fingers through the shortening again. "Do you..." His mouth is dry and he feels like there's a fire burning under his clothes, trapped against his skin. "Do you want -- "

"Yes," Ben croaks.

Hux clenches his fist, working the soft grease over his palm and between his fingers. He squeezes them together, shaking himself by now, and tucks his thumb into the cradle of his palm. He places his fingertips against Ben's hole and pushes slowly. His skin is slick, shining in the bright light of the kitchen. Melted shortening gathers in the crease of his thighs, drips in a slow bead toward his balls. Hux pushes.

"Wait," Ben slurs against the counter-top. "Stop moving... let... let me -- "

Hux does as he's told and holds himself still. Ben leavers himself up onto his elbows. His face is flushed dark, brow glistening with sweat, eyes teary. He pushes himself back in sort little jolts at first, moving his hips in tiny motions from side to side, adjusting. Finally, he sinks back. He gasps and so does Hux as the round of his thumb pops past the elasticity of Ben's hole. Ben pants, mouth slack, and whispers something that sounds like a curse and a prayer. His hands shake much more violently than before and he curls them into fists, the digits of his left hand curling awkwardly around the rings stacked on his finger.

"Hux," he breathes. " _Oh_."

Hux marvels at the heat and clutch of Ben's body. He shifts his fingers inside, joints getting stiff in their strained arrangement. Ben hiccups and winces and his expression settles into a slack smile. Ben shifts back and forth just a little, rocking in a shallow arc into Hux -- onto Hux. Ben doesn't get hard like this, he has to remind himself. He'd been upset last night, convinced of his own inadequacy when he noticed. Be had laughed and sighed and pulled him as close as he could, patting Hux's head indulgently where it rested against his belly, Hux's wrist turning against his hole.  _Brain's too busy with other things -- blood's rushing other places._ He doesn't come like this, either; not in the typical, messy way.

"It's like relief, release," Ben explained while he clung to Hux, shivering and jerking with it. A cool-warmth that spreads out through his core and into his limbs, made his abdomen clench and flutter with particularly giant butterflies.

Hux leans in, planting kisses against Ben's tense shoulder. He reaches forward, thumbing away an errant tear. Ben closes his eyes, expression almost serene. "Ben," he murmurs against him, a little overwhelmed if he'll admit it. His arm it cramping and his back aches, but it's good -- feels good to share this thing that his husband kept so hushed. His body flashes with warmth and he thinks he understands what Ben meant, although he's sure it's not the same.

Time seems to slow. The sound of the kitchen door flapping through the frame on its swinging hinge drags through the seconds, deafening in the otherwise silent room. Phasma walks through the kitchen, toward the sink, a pair of mugs clutched in either hand. Ben's whole body tenses, his eyes wide. Hux freezes, he doesn't know what to do and panic grips him everywhere that had just felt so good.

"I think your sister is officially out cold, she finally ate herself into a coma." Oblivious she stops, noticing them. "Poe's going to call us a cab, so we're going to head out to the ho--tel..." Phasma stops where she is, eyes big as saucers and mouth open in a little  _O_ of surprise. "Oh my god."

"Get  _out_ ," Hux says in as commanding a tone as he can command. Ben is swearing a blue streak against the counter top beneath him and he does his best in their awkward position to hide Ben in the shell of his body.

Phasma turns on her heel and takes two steps back toward the door. She seems to remember what she came up for in the first place and turns back again, heading straight for the sink and placing the mugs down into it. "I can't believe you're up here  _fucking_. We're down there feeling awful because you won't let us help with the dishes and you're not doing  _dishes_ , you're  _doing_ him.  _Fuck_." She flees the kitchen promptly with her steady stride and they can hear her retreat to the basement once more.

"Fuck," Hux says, forehead pressed between Ben's shoulders.

"You need to get off of me."

"Alright."

"Now, Hux."

He does as he's told, careful as he can be with his nerves shot to hell. Ben groans uncomfortably as Hux's thumb tugs against the elasticity of his hole and pops free. Slowly, Hux draws his fingers out. His heart aches weirdly as he holds his hand up as if he's been sanitized to perform some procedure and Ben curls away from him, back arched like a cat and hole trying to clench around nothing. Ben sinks to his knees, forehead pressed to the back of the cabinetry and Hux pushes himself into action. He scrubs his hands bright pink with soap and near-scalding water. Ben's breathing is heavy from behind the counter and guilt rolls in Hux's stomach like a brick. He shouldn't have egged Ben on, shouldn't have pushed. He should have been patient.

"Ben, I'm so sor--"

"Can you hand me the paper towel, please?" His voice is soft, wounded.

"Alright." He passes the roll over the counter into Ben's waiting hand. " _Ben_ , I -- I don't think she saw, but -- " Ben waves him off and he guards the door, back turned to him in a mix of horror and sympathy.

Rey does look a bit like she's been shook awake from a thousand-year nap when the group stands out on the front porch waiting for their respective cars. She leans dreamily against Finn, the only one not hugging herself against the sudden snap of chill in the night air. Ben and Hux brace themselves but Phasma says nothing more, only gives them awkward pats of affection when the cab that will whisk she and Poe off to their hotel arrives. Meeting times for the morning are discussed and the cars pull away, Poe shouting good night and waving as they go.

They shower separately. They crawl into bed in stiff silence and stare at the ceiling in the dark, lying flat beside each other beneath the comforter.

Hux takes a breath, apology ready on his lips. He begins to speak and Ben simply bursts into laughter. He shakes with it, the bed jiggling with the force of it, and he curls into Hux. "Did you see her face?"

"I don't find this funny, Ben. I'm trying to apologize. I'll speak to her tomorrow -- apologize to her as well."

"Hux, stop."

"But she walked in on -- "

" _Hux,"_ Ben shifts and wings his leg over Hux's waist, sitting up in the dark with the comforter like a cape around him. "Stop it. It happened, we can't go back and change it."

"But -- "

"You weren't the one with a hand up your ass. Let me laugh about it." Hux rolls his eyes and crosses his arms. "It was a dumb thing to do and the universe taught us a lesson. You were right. I don't think she realized what was going on, and getting caught being fucked by my husband in my own home isn't the worst thing to ever happen in the world."

"I suppose." Ben sits there, staring down at him, face crinkled in amusement. Finally, Hux sorts and laughs. "I can't believe she went back to put the cups in the sink."

"We'll get her a bottle of Belvedere and she'll forget the whole thing." Ben laughs and settles down again. "Scheduled fisting  _only_ from now on, alright?" Hux laughs and agrees.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to twitter, prompted by a call for very specific holiday porn. Took a while to get this up because first I was too embarrassed to finish it and then I was too involved in turning it into a presentable story and I'm still not sure it actually is. The entire premise is ridiculous and who the hell would ever put themselves in this position, really? Am I ashamed? Jury's out. Comments are always very much appreciated.
> 
> You can find me on twitter and [tumblr.](http://avaahren.tumblr.com/post/181850576679/traditional-stuffing-aryagreenleaf) Fist safely, friends.


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